


The Compleat Guide

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Jim finds his Guide but his Guide didn't get the memo.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Compleat Guide

## The Compleat Guide

#### by Maigret

  
These characters belong to PetFly, Bilson and DeMeo and lawyers somewhere. I make and claim no profit from this alternate universe view.   
Thank you Val and Elaine for going above and beyond to beta this story for me. I like to tinker so any mistakes are mine, all mine. And, I claim them happily.   
  
Spoilers abound for the first season episodes of The Sentinel.   
This story is a sequel to: http://None

* * *

Prologue 

Jim settled the quiver of homemade arrows onto his bare shoulder. He sighted the prey through the heavy jungle undergrowth. The wild pig was snuffling softly as it fed. James Joseph Ellison nocked an arrow, focused his vision and let it fly. The seated man next to him clapped delightedly. 

"Did you get him, Enqueri?" 

"Yes, Incacha, I saw him fall." 

"Then we will eat very well tonight. Help me up, Enqueri. I am not as young as I once was." 

The well-muscled man snorted, and helped the Chopec shaman to his feet. "You're as young as I am. Who was it who trekked with me every step of the way when I had to go to the temple?" 

The shaman pointed in the direction of the fallen prey. "You probably want me to carry my old bones to your latest kill." 

The tall man, lighter-skinned, even with a deep tan, burst into laughter, "Why do I never win a war of words with you, Incacha?" 

Incacha studied his hands with elaborate care. "Because, I am the Guide." 

"Yes, Incacha." The taller man's response was respectful, but laced with humor. 

The silence between the two men was untroubled. Jim Ellison, stranded in Peru some seventeen months ago, cleaved a path through the jungle. He let his senses roam. He expanded them and listened to the soft chatter of a monkey scolding the passing men. His sight was swallowed in the beauty of a blooming orchid. He did these things because he was a Sentinel and the man who kept pace with him at his side was his Guide. Jim lost himself in the beauty of the day, trusting implicitly that his Guide would protect him. 

When his helicopter crashed in Peru, he and two others were the sole survivors of an eight-man secret mission. He had done his best, but their injuries were beyond his help. One day later, Donner had died, while Serris lingered for a week without waking, before he too died. Not knowing where he had landed, and how long it would be before he would be relieved, he buried the last of his men, scavenged all he could from the damaged helicopter, and set out to find the local tribesmen and fulfill his mission. 

The tribesmen had been elusive. The Army Ranger spent a month alone before he became aware that he could hear the footsteps of someone following him. Half out of his head with fever; he set a trap for his unseen companion, and came face-to-face with the shaman the next day. Deep in the jungle, Incacha cared for him and nursed him back to health. The first day he could sit up for longer than five minutes, he realized that he had acquired a new name and acceptance of his five enhanced senses. 

Had anyone else but the shaman been with him, Jim would never have survived. The senses that he had buried deeply after Bud's murder had returned. He tried to bury them again, and hide what he was from Incacha, but he was unsuccessful. The shaman sat cross-legged in front of him and in Quechua, sign language, and mangled English explained that he, James Ellison, was a gift to the Chopec. He was their Sentinel. For the first time, the Ranger did not have to hide his gifts. Incacha did not allow him to. 

As soon as Jim was strong enough, Incacha taught him to hunt, track, speak Quechua and during the spare hours, taught him to use his senses in ways he had never dreamed. Jim reveled in the use of his senses, they became second nature, and his Guide, Incacha, was always there for him. 

Swinging his arms comfortably, the United States and the twentieth century were a universe away. All that mattered now were the simple tasks of hunting, protecting, and guarding the tribe. Jim Ellison sighed contentedly. He listened to the heartbeat of the man beside him. 

Incacha spoke. "Soon you will leave us, Enqueri. I have seen this. Before the next moon wanes, you will return to your people." 

The well-muscled man looked at his Guide in surprise. He did not doubt the vision, but he wondered about his future. 

Incacha put a restraining hand on his arm and halted the both of them. "Your life-path changes Enqueri. I cannot guide you in your new life. I have met your new Spirit Guide." 

Jim's heart sank. He had suppressed his senses for most of his life, and within the last seventeen months he had discovered acceptance. Incacha taught him that he could not use his senses without a Guide. The danger was too great to the Sentinel. Rationally, Jim knew that the private thought he entertained that Incacha would make the journey with him to the US was just that - a useless thought. The shaman was needed by his people and could not leave them. 

Jim Ellison turned up his palms in entreaty. He spoke the formal words in Quechua. "Tell me Incacha...tell me of my new Guide." 

* * *

  1. Guide alert 



Blair Sandburg had a date. He adjusted his earphones, hitched his backpack on his shoulder, and entered the lobby of Cascade General Hospital. He was supposed to meet Cyndi in the lobby. He walked to the row of chairs in front of the full-length plate glass windows and sat. He tapped his feet in time to the soft drumming sounds of the Yanamamo headhunters issuing from his headphones. Idly, he noted the progress of the tall man who approached the security desk a few yards away. 

The man screamed of cop. He might be dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, but Blair had a mother who could scent a cop from a county away. He might not be regular cop, probably a detective or something, but he was still a cop. The man cocked his head in a listening stance. The security guard tried to recapture his attention, but the cop appeared to be ignoring him. 

Blair wondered what was keeping Cyndi. He cranked up the volume and settled down to wait. He was enjoying the tableau being played out in front of him anyway. The tall cop had not moved from his position. Blair grinned and thought of serendipity. Obviously the cop was having some seizure, and - guess what - he was in the right place to have one. 

Blair looked up and saw the voluptuous woman walking towards him. Cyndi filled out her lab coat beautifully and Blair wondered if it might be too late to change his course of study. He wouldn't mind hanging around the blood bank, if he had Cyndi leaning over him a number of times daily. 

The anthropology student switched off his music and removed his earphones. He bounced up onto the balls of his feet and brushed a kiss on Cyndi's smooth cheek. In mid-bounce, across Cyndi's shoulder, he saw the man at the security desk slump over. Blair stiffened, catching the attention of the woman he was hugging. She, too, turned around. 

He started to move forward to help, when the woman next to him spoke, "It's OK, Blair, the staff will take over. You'll only be in the way." 

They stayed for a little while longer watching as the security guard notified the ER, and hospital personnel soon swarmed over the motionless man. 

Blair sighed and turned his attention to his date. He had met Cyndi while tutoring her for Professor Bachman's graduate seminar. Within minutes of meeting her, he knew that he would pursue her once she no longer required his help. Two months later, Cyndi had an A and Blair was going on their first date. 

Blair couldn't resist. Maybe it was the scientist in him, but he turned to get one last look at the drama being played out behind him. The orderlies had wrestled the unresponsive man onto a gurney. The air around the patient was thick with medical terms as a team worked on him. A few seconds later, the doors to the emergency room opened and the entire spectacle disappeared behind closed doors. 

* * *

2\. Finding the Guide 

The incessant drumming filled his ears. He could feel the individual pulses between the rhythmic thwacks. He could hear the soft reverb echoing from a distant music source. It was five years after Jim Ellison's Peruvian adventure. He was in Cascade without a Guide and every Sentinel sense just came back on line. Jim expanded his hearing and tried to follow the sound. In short order, every other sense was overwhelmed. 

Jim surfaced slowly. The tribal rhythms were gone along with the accompanying heartbeat. Someone shone a light in his eyes and he felt his pupil contract to a pinpoint. 

"Mr. Ellison?" A nasal voice intruded. "Can you hear me, Mr. Ellison?" 

Jim grimaced in pain. His hearing was acutely sensitive. "Yes, just shut the hell up." 

"Mr. Ellison, you had a seizure? I am recommending neurological testing and overnight observation." 

Jim ignored the nasal voice and tried to battle several sensory stimuli all at once. He was in a hospital bed. He would deal with that later. But now it was more important to control his senses and find his Guide. 

The detective closed off sight, taste, and smell. He opened up his hearing and tried to pick up the heartbeat he had heard beneath the tribal music that had been playing. 'There, there it was.' Jim Ellison was elated. His Guide was somewhere outside, in the parking lot that ringed Cascade Memorial. 

He imprinted the steady thumping heartbeat while shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation between his Guide and someone else. His Guide sounded so young. When Incacha had told him about the vision he had had of his new Guide, he had not mentioned age. Jim had assumed that he would be a mature man. This person sounded like a teenager. 

Using his hearing, Jim followed what was happening outside. The teenager in question fitted a key into an ancient car. The door creaked as it opened. Obviously, his Guide's companion had a negative opinion of the car. 

Persuasive masculine tones explained that the car was a Corvair, and a classic. Jim snorted. Even when the Corvair was in production, he would never have called it a classic. 

The car failed to start the first time, but cranked successfully on the second try. All the while, the Guide kept up a steady stream of chatter. The car, with an obvious muffler problem, pulled out of its spot and joined the traffic flow. 

Jim was amazed. This was his Guide. He didn't think the kid had stopped to breathe from the time he had tuned into his heartbeat. He _babbled_. Could Incacha have been wrong? Jim sighed gustily. No, his senses were back on line and, that kid who drove a Corvair was his Guide. Jim mourned for Incacha's calm. 

The Sentinel lay back in bed. He would deal with his immediate problem, then track down the owner of what was probably the only Corvair in Cascade with a muffler problem and a squeaky door. First, however, he needed to get out of the hospital. 

Jim parked the truck in the underground garage of the Cascade PD and hurried upstairs. When Dr. McCoy entered his room, he had been told exactly what he expected to hear. He was healthy and the initial test results showed there was nothing wrong with him. McCoy recommended further tests in the hope that something would be revealed. Jim did not tell the doctor that his problems would be solved just as soon as he contacted his Guide. He smiled, and firmly insisted on being released. Dr. McCoy was not happy and Jim opted for an AMA. 

Jim Ellison entered the Major Crime bullpen. While he was riding the elevator up, his senses went haywire. Jim was assaulted by the stale smell of unwashed body odors, the harsh overhead lighting, and the pinging of the elevator as it sounded off floors. He stumbled out of the elevator and sagged against the wall. His heart was pounding and he could barely focus. Jim sighed. He would be relieved when his Guide took over responsibility for his senses. 

Jim walked to his desk and waved to Rafe. It was quiet for a Thursday afternoon. This was a far cry from what it would be later on tonight when the denizens of the night were out in force. He sat at his computer and accessed the Department of Motor Vehicles database. He entered 'Search,' and began searching for Covairs throughout the system. Jim was dismayed. Cascade was obviously a city that attracted Corvair owners. When the computer ended his tally, Jim had over 120 Corvair owners on his list. 

He sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers restlessly on the table. 

"Ellison." 

Jim winced. Some days he wished Simon would choose to speak and not roar. 

"Yes, Simon." 

"What are you doing back here? Did you question Bernelli?" 

"Uh, no, Simon, I was at the hospital, but something came up." Jim shaded the truth deliberately. "I'll just finish up here and then head back there. 

Simon considered questioning his best detective, but decided discretion was the better part of valor. Jim did not understand the concept of chitchat. If he had something new to report on a case, he gave an account, worked at his desk or with the computer for a while, and then left the station. Sometimes he wondered if Ellison's time in Vice had given him these habits, but when he had discussed the detective's impending transfer with his counterpart Daggert in Vice, he was told that was how the man worked, and had always worked. Pairing Ellison with Jack Prendergast mellowed him for a while. Once Jack was gone, the detective quickly reclaimed all his bad habits. Simon stared at the detective for another minute and then turned his attention to Brown. 

Jim returned to the computer. He programmed another parameter into the computer. He eliminated all females from the group. A few more key taps and he discarded all the men over forty. His Guide sounded young. Jim tapped again and eliminated another seven men from his pool when he decreased the age limit to thirty-five. He stood up and went to the printer to get the nineteen names that were left. 

Two hours later, Jim was studying the printout in the loft. Using a red pen, he circled names and plotted his route. Tomorrow, he would meet everyone on his list. He planned to find his Guide. 

* * *

3\. Tracking the Guide 

Jim stood in front of Hargrove Hall. He had spoken with almost all the other men on his list. This young man had been listed as a student on his DMV record. Jim had utilized a cop's second best friend on Monday, and discovered that one Blair Sandburg was a student at Rainier University. He was a doctoral candidate. 

Jim took the stairs two at a time. When he entered the building, he scanned the directory to find the young man's office. He did not see it listed. Just then his senses cut in on him and he heard his Guide's heartbeat. It was coming from somewhere beneath him. Jim heard the steady drumming and tracked it to a door labeled Artifact Storage Room 3. He pushed the door open gently, and saw the young man who would be his Guide swaying rhythmically to a pulsating drumbeat. 

"Hello." 

The young man continued swaying. When he swiveled his chair to face front he noticed the visitor. He smiled in welcome. 

Jim signaled to his ears and the music was turned down. 

"Uh... hi, man. If you are looking for the Mayan exhibit, they moved it last week to Fordyke Hall." 

Jim stared at the other man -- masses of chestnut-auburn, curly hair, blue eyes and a compact body that hinted at hidden strength. 

"No, I came to talk to you, not see the Mayan exhibit. I'm Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD." 

"Is it my Mom, man? What the heck has she done now?" 

The energetic young man got up and paced. "She didn't tell me she was coming for a visit. But when has that ever stopped her from picketing on the run? So what has she done now?" 

Jim looked on in fascination. Yes, he had just confirmed it, his Guide didn't breathe. Jim extended a hand and stopped Blair in mid-stride. "It's not about your Mom, sport." 

Enormous blue eyes widened fractionally, "But she hasn't done anything, has she?" 

Jim sighed soundlessly. "No. No, she hasn't. I am here to see you-" The Sentinel paused, and wondered how to phrase his request, "-about a personal matter." 

The shorter man grinned engagingly. "Oh sure, tutoring? I am your man. I have a couple of slots free. What course are you taking?" 

Jim shook his head again. 

The grin disappeared from the animated face. 

Jim plunged. "I have heightened senses. For them to operate efficiently, I need a Guide. _You_ are my Guide." 

"Huh? Hey, is this a trick that Jeremy set me up for?" 

The young Guide spun away from the detective. "I told Jeremy that I didn't plan to date Veronica. I didn't know he wanted her that badly." 

Jim shook his head in negation, "Not, Jeremy. I don't know any Jeremy; he hasn't sent me here." 

"So what's all this about then?" Blair was not happy. He cast his mind back, and tried to figure out if he had any parking tickets due. He knew he had not run any red lights recently. Jim patiently began again. "I have enhanced senses. Ummm, like people who are perfume testers. I can smell beyond the range of your average human." 

"Wh...?" 

"I can see beyond the normal range, and hear, also." 

Jim turned away from Blair's unblinking stare and began to pace. "I've had these senses since I was a child. I hid them for many years until I crash landed in Peru." Jim sighed, thinking about his idyllic time with the Chopec. "They came back on line then. My Guide found me and he trained me." 

Jim turned again to face the young man who had a horrified expression on his face. "They remained off-line for five years after I came back to the United States. Four days ago, they were activated." 

"And this affects me how?" 

Jim begged for patience from an ancient Chopec god. "Every Sentinel needs a Guide, you are my Guide." 

"I am not." Blair exclaimed. "Look man, I know Prozac works great, and they're making great strides forward in certain types of electro-shock therapy. You're in the wrong place, man." 

Jim caught the young man up by the front of his loose shirt and he pushed him against the wall. "Listen, you neo-hippie-witch-doctor-punk, this is my life we're discussing!" Jim released Blair and pressed his head against the cool wood. "I'm not crazy. I'm a Sentinel and I need a Guide. You." 

"Wait a minute, hang on." Blair rushed to a corner of the tiny basement office. He began rummaging through a stack of books precariously balanced on a spindly-legged chair. "I know I saw it somewhere. It was in my undergrad seminar about three years ago," he babbled softly. 

The anthropology student pulled out a book triumphantly. "Ah, hah." He flipped through pages feverishly and then found the reference. 

Jim moved to stand behind his shoulder. He saw a picture depicting a tribesman on one page. 

Blair put the book down and frowned. "Burton's work was never proved. The existence of Sentinels has never been documented. I don't think anyone...." 

Jim held up one finger and stopped the flow of speech. "Do you believe a person can have one enhanced sense? 

Blair scrabbled through his memory stores and said triumphantly, "The long-range recon units in Vietnam." 

"Right." Jim smiled at his Guide. "They changed their diets so the Cong wouldn't smell them as Westerners." 

Blair nodded. 

"Well, if you accept that a person can have one enhanced sense, then it might be possible for someone to have all five, right?" 

"Overload of sensory stimuli." Blair muttered. 

Jim heard him. "Yes." 

"How do you manage?" 

Jim pushed his hands into his pocket and clenched them tightly. "I don't, manage that is. That's why I need a Guide." 

Blair licked his lips. "I'm not a Guide. A tutor sometimes, yes, but I can't help you." 

"You don't get it, do you, Darwin? My senses were off-line until you came into my orbit, until you activated them. Ergo, you are _MY_ Guide. 

"Wait, you're that guy from the hospital." 

Jim pulled his hands out of his pockets. His Guide was intelligent and quick thinking. That would be an asset. He responded. "Yes, until Thursday, I hadn't used my senses in over five years. I heard the drumming from your cassette player first, then your heartbeat and then I overloaded." 

The curly head nodded slowly. "And this makes you think I'm your Guide?" 

"No, this makes me know, you are my Guide." Jim cut in impatiently. 

"How do you know it was me? Not someone else?" 

Jim considered telling him about Incacha's vision and then decided not to. He was tired, immeasurably tired. He had spent the last few days with his senses off the chart, cutting out at odd times. It was a hazard for him to drive, to do anything, and now his Guide, his reluctant Guide, did not seem enthused. Jim pulled out his card and pressed it into the younger man's hand. 

"Blair Sandburg, you are my Guide. I'm not too proud to beg for help. I need you." 

Jim departed and left one slack-jawed anthropologist behind. 

The young man crushed the card in his hand and raced out of his office. He ran out of Hargrove Hall and tried to find the man who had just left his office. He sighted him, standing in the middle of the street, staring at a flying Frisbee, oblivious to the truck barreling towards him. 

* * *

4\. In the beginning 

Jim felt the firm palm on his butt clashing with the dust rising from the concrete roadway. He was stunned. He glanced over at the man lying full length on the ground next to him, before standing and brushing at his clothes. Blair stood up next to him dusting his clothes. The truck driver jumped out of the cab and joined the two men. Jim looked around wildly, touched his Guide to be sure he was safe. He barely heard the truck driver's apology. 

Blair began, "That was so not cool, man..." 

Jim interrupted, "Let's get out of here." 

Blair nodded in mid-rant and walked away from the gathering crowd with the Sentinel. 

As soon as they were away from the crowd, Blair asked curiously, "What happened back there?" 

"I was focusing on the Frisbee, and I don't know what happened after that." 

Blair whistled softly. "One sense overloaded all the others." 

Jim nodded unhappily, while his Guide pursued his deductions to the only possible conclusion. 

"You have five senses, but sometimes one overwhelms the other, and you kinda tune...er...zone out." 

He finished triumphantly, "That's why you need a Guide." Blair looked away and studied the flower-seller some yards away. 

"Detective Ellison?" 

"Jim," the taller man interrupted, "Call me Jim." 

"OK, Jim, I want you to concentrate on the bunch of flowers. Close your eyes and tell me if there are any roses in the grouping." 

The detective obediently closed his eyes. Blair's attention wandered as he caught sight of two of his female classmates. 

He grabbed Jim's arm's, "Eighty-six that. Eighty-six that. Radar up. I want you to tell me what they're saying." 

The taller man looked around until he saw the two young women his Guide indicated. Jim shook his head. He was not about to actively encourage his Guide. He knew what was ahead for the two of them emotionally. He nodded and adopted a listening posture. 

"Forget it. They called you a dork." 

Blair looked so disappointed, that for a moment, Jim's conscience tweaked him unmercifully. He stifled it. 

"So, do you think you can help me?" 

The young Guide looked at the Sentinel. "I don't know if I can. I don't know about any of this Guide stuff. But I'll try to help you." 

* * *

5\. Training the Sentinel 

Blair sighed. He knew there was a reason why police work had never interested him. He had spent the last two days at Jim's side. The most entertaining thing was a paper cut as they went through notes from the Switchman case, trying to find some overlooked clue. Where was the excitement? Blair pulled out his video camera and focused on the detective. Jim was poking around the remnants of a bombsite. 

The Sentinel noticed the camera when he turned and frowned. "Sandburg, no cameras, I don't want to be recorded like some freak." 

"Hey man, it's just for the record." Blair hung onto his conviction for another second. He sighed, and then packed the camcorder away. The detective was scanning the debris half-heartedly. A chattering magpie flapped its wings in the sudden silence. 

"Sandburg, how are you with trees?" 

A few moments later, Blair found himself negotiating a climb upwards. He muttered grumpily under his breath. "Next time, I'm gonna check out the fine print in the Guide contract. No one mentioned heights." 

Blair reached out and snagged the entire nest. "I don't want to have my skull ventilated by some pissed-off magpie!" He threw the nest down to Jim with a loud, "Heads up." 

Blair carefully felt for footholds as he climbed down. "Hey, Jim." 

"Yeah, Sandburg?" 

"How did you know who I was?" 

Jim grinned and reached for his Guide as he came closer to the ground. "Your car." 

"My car?" Blank amazement met this statement. 

"Yeah, when I finally came out of my zone-out, you were in the parking lot and you told your date that the Corvair was a classic." Jim chuckled. 

"The Corvair _is_ a classic." Blair was a little indignant. 

Jim guffawed. He tried to compose himself a little while he studied the nest. "Sport, somewhere in the world, Corvairs are classics. The one you have, isn't. Anyway, I checked through the DMV database and checked each person on the list who owned a Corvair. You were second to last." 

Blair absorbed the insult about his car. He would have his revenge on Jim for that slur against his property sometime in the future. He had a long memory and a fertile imagination. 

The tall detective made a disgusted sound. "This is it?" He held up a fragment of blue yarn. 

Blair thought for a minute. "This isn't a stumbling block; it's just a stepping stone." 

"Make sense, Darwin?" 

The anthropologist grinned excitedly. "Smell it, Jim. Look at it. Touch it. Use every sense to identify it." 

Jim smelled an elusive scent, an amalgam of jungle scents. He imprinted it and told his Guide. 

"OK, man, now we go to the mall and check out all the natural scents' shops. See Jim, that's detective work." 

The detective stared at his bouncing, excited Guide. He shared a grin. 

"Right, Chief. That's detective work." 

* * *

6\. Never far apart 

Blair adjusted the shoulder strap on his battered leather bag more securely. He leaned against the side of the red jeep and enjoyed his first success in guiding. Judiciously, he decided not to count the near accident with the truck. He wasn't guiding then. The anthropology student rubbed his nose and grinned. Ellison was persistent. He had to give him that. When he had suggested using every sense to pick up clues from the blue material, the detective had sniffed, fingered, and even tasted the clue. Battling a headache in the mall, Jim had been game and smelt every scent the salesclerks put before him. Thank goodness, they had been lucky on their fourth store. 

Blair looked at the group of tourists near the bus. The woman, who had been identified as the Switchman, was boarding the large tour bus. Jim was on the observation deck many floors above them, so he could not signal to him. He decided to jump on the bus. He had his cell phone and camcorder, what else did an intrepid grad student need? 

Twenty minutes later, Blair was trying to call through to the Cascade PD. He looked up at the barrel of a gun and decided that maybe impetuosity did not always pay off. The Guide had an uncharacteristically selfish thought and wondered where the hell Jim Ellison was. A second later, the heavy thud on the roof of the bus announced the detective's presence. 

One hand-to-hand fight in close quarters, with the discharged Army veteran, had the young anthropologist the worse for wear. But, when faced with the possibility of the detective, his Sentinel, being injured, Blair did not think twice, he punched the Switchman hard. 

Another successful spot of guiding, and the young man stood outside the bus, bouncing happily. "You mean we can be like, partners? That's great, man. I can use the police department to gather more data for my dissertation. I'm doing closed societies, you know, and the whole cop thing is such a hierarchical system. It would only be better if I could get a chance to study and compare branches of the armed services." 

The Sentinel smiled at him tolerantly. There wasn't a choice, but Blair would not know that for quite some time to come. Jim was impressed with his Guide's quick thinking. Already, the grad student could read the subtext in his clipped speech. 

The taller man teased gently, "Yeah, but you know you'll have to go to the academy." 

The Sentinel turned away and hid a smile when his Guide began protesting vociferously. Inside he agreed with him. It would be a shame to cut all that hair. 

Jim felt his lower body tighten. Sighing, he moved away from his Guide. It might be selfish of him, but for the time being his Guide was not ready to take the next step. In the meantime, his ex-wife was giving him the come-hither look. Jim acquiesced. He would have dinner with Carolyn while he marked time and waited for his Guide to be ready. 

* * *

7\. Lesson 1 - Obfuscation 

Blair held his breath and balanced against the sides of the stall in the tiny police bathroom. He wondered if he could get a refund on this day later on in life. The day started badly. He cut himself shaving, but it had been fascinating when Jim mentioned it while they walked through the garage. He had nicked himself a few hours ago, but the Sentinel had picked it up. The scientist in him itched to test the detective's senses further. Not only did he want to test the detective, but he wanted to hang out with him, he wanted to hear what Jim had to share about his time with the Chopec. He was becoming addicted to the easy intimacy the two of them shared. Blair filed that thought away for another time. 

So how did he get from here to there, normalcy to insanity? He had been following his Sentinel. The anthropologist took a moment to be amazed. Less than five days ago, he'd met Jim Ellison, a man who called himself a Sentinel. A big, brawny male who informed him, that he, one Blair -son-of-cop-allergic Naomi Sandburg, was his Guide 

Not that he thought he was anyone's Guide by any stretch of the imagination, but somehow, when he did think about it, he did not believe guiding involved being suspended 4 feet off the ground, trying to hide from some criminal in serious need of rehabilitation. In fact, the first chance he had, he was planning to have a serious chat with Detective Ellison. 

He had been in the grizzly's...uh, Captain Banks' office, and he had given his best speech. Heck, he had thrown in that thin blue line one as a fallback, but the Captain had not bought that either. If he were not terrified out of his skull, he would have spared a moment to grind his teeth. _His_ closed societies speech had not worked, the one that worked, the nepotism angle given by Jim. If he were more foolhardy, he would have used that as the perfect example of the trust that existed between members of a closed society - exactly what he needed for his dissertation, by the way - and thrown it in Ellison's face. 

The more he experienced of this guiding thing, the less he wanted to be a part of it. It seemed to involve being in siege situations more often than not. Blair held his breath and waited until the last moment before slamming the door on the gun-wielding thug. He dragged the unconscious man across the tiled floor and vacated the bathroom. He searched for another hiding place and finding none, squeezed between the wall and the dispenser machine, and wondered where he could find the lost manual on guiding. Five minutes later, he wondered where the other food dispensers were. 

Blair thought a little hysterically to himself. "Of all the dispensers in the Cascade, why did you have to use mine?" 

With a satisfying crash, the grad student tallied the score. Dispenser: 1, armed criminal: 0. 

Blair rubbed his hands together. This guiding thing was a snap, moments of sheer terror interspersed with more moments of sheer terror. He planned to talk to his Sentinel about this, just as soon as he did something else terrifying. 

He headed into an empty office and saw the window cleaner's platform. A short time later, sitting with the group of hostages Kincaid was holding, Blair spared a moment to wonder where his reason had gone, and had anyone seen it? The escape by window-cleaner's platform had been spectacularly unsuccessful. 

Blair sat morosely in the group and wondered how much worse the day would get. Overhearing their future being discussed by Kincaid and his men, Blair knew there was worse, and worse, and his day was destined for the latter unless he did something. From somewhere outside his now possessed body, he heard his voice insist that he was a lieutenant in the Cascade PD. 

That same voice led him to tell a few more lies while he was at it. His reason returned somewhere about the third stair as he was being hustled upwards to the roof and the waiting helicopter. It gleefully mocked him asking, what had lying gained him? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. 

Finally airborne, Blair waited for an opportunity to escape from the psychotics holding him. Later, he would postulate that maybe knowing that the detective was hanging off the helicopter strut, miles above Cascade harbor, galvanized something in him. The next minutes were a blur to the anthropologist, but at any rate he managed to scare the pilot into setting the craft safely on the ground. 

While he waited for Jim to finish signing some forms, Blair looked at his hands. Did he, a registered pacifist, actually pull a gun on Kincaid and threaten to shoot the pilot, claiming that he had been in Desert Storm and had flown Apaches? 

He was a talker, using persuasion to get what he wanted, yet he had pulled a gun. His mother would never understand what had driven him to act the way he did today. He didn't understand it himself. 

Well, whatever violent spirit had possessed him, no matter what Simon said, or how much Jim needed him, he had given this guiding thing a whirl, and it was definitely not for him. That laugh Ellison gave when he asked him if today was what a typical day was like, was so not reassuring. 

* * *

8\. Pieces of Eight 

Blair 

Today, I was exposed to a man's raw pain because he lost a friend. Danny Choi meant so much to Jim Ellison. I couldn't help but shiver, in a good way, thinking about how wonderful it would be to have Ellison's attention focused on me. Mind you, I still wanted to brain him when he went off half-cocked - against his captain's orders - and then we got caught in one of the stupidest traps. But we got those Juno bastards, those killers. Forget Naomi and her preaching against the pigs. I'm getting another view from the inside. In fact, I was able to help Ellison stretch his senses. This guiding gig may not be so bad. 

Jim 

Something finally relaxed in me once I got Sandburg, Blair - my Guide - under my roof. Well, the Barbary ape I could have done without, but the courtship ritual was welcome. I know he still has to climb the stairs but getting him into my daily orbit is half the battle. This way I can keep an eye on him and protect him. No matter what I said aloud to Henri, I welcomed this new proximity to my Guide: the hair in the bathroom, his snuffling while he slept, running out of hot water in the morning. Hmm, not that last one so much. I told Sandburg one week, but this is a debt to my Guide that I want to pay forever. The perks aren't bad either. 

Blair 

Jim was - Jim was fantastic. How he came blasting into Lash's hideout. Getting the duck pond clue. How cool is that! Being trapped by that cipher of a man, that crazed psycho, was not the highlight of my day. But I discovered something. No, I discovered two things. Jim is spoiling me for women. Christine, who's flame hot, and could crank my engine any day of the week, just doesn't do it for me anymore. I could use the tired excuse and say that I was nervous about Jim interrupting our fun, which he did by the way. But I'm done with lying to myself. Christine isn't the crank on my motor anymore. And the second thing I discovered is that Jim is my personal savior. He will always be there for me. He says he's my Sentinel but I am beginning to think of him like my personal postal carrier - you know, through rain and storm and dead of night, nothing stops my avenging Sentinel. 

Jim 

I discovered something tonight. Sandburg knows what he's talking about. I don't know where he's been finding the time. He keeps an insane schedule between school and helping me at work but he's obviously been squeezing in the time to research Sentinels and Guides. He continually comes up with these solutions that don't sound like they would work and yet they do. I know Incacha would approve of my Guide's inventiveness. I can be bull-headed - others have called my stubbornness by less charitable names. So I take...errm...guzzle cough medicine - against my Guide's advice, I'll have you know, and then jump on the night train to hell. There are parts of that trip that I never want to remember. Do you know what I anchored my senses to? My Guide's heartbeat. 

Blair 

Brackett! What a waste of mother's milk! I'm thinking he would be a perfect poster child for being raised by wolves. See, Jim and I were just getting our rhythm going. I was getting into the whole testing his senses thing. And he was getting into the whole doing me favors thing. Actually I was beginning to enjoy my benefits of guiding Jim, getting comfortable with him and enjoying his dry wit. So Jim comes to Rainier to give a lecture and that rogue agent, Leigh Brackett, decides to use us, Sentinel and Guide, that is. I was feeling pretty proud of being the designated Guide. Then I heard Brackett use the term, he made it sound so foul. Being on that bridge helping Jim concentrate snapped it all into focus for me also. It doesn't matter what that crud Brackett says. I'm Jim's Guide and I'm proud of it. Not that I'm going to tell that smirking Sentinel any such thing, and certainly not any time soon. 

Jim 

I am the lowest kind of heel. I just used my Guide in the worst possible way. I used his enthusiasm and eagerness to help me. Looking back I remember shaking my head when Blair bounded off to follow Maya. I knew that he would eventually crash and burn but I didn't realize how ugly it would be. Love and guns. Maya and Blair. Neither was a match made in heaven. She came to see him after it was all over. And though I couldn't wait to see the last of Maya Carasco, I knew I had to rein in my possessiveness, and allow them closure. How's that for a Blair word, closure, not possessiveness? I heard what she said to Blair, how she loved him and hated him. Talk about giving the poor guy a complex.... As soon as she was gone, I tried to inveigle him out of his room with the promise of being able to lecture me about MSG as a hallucinogen. But he wasn't ready. For the sake of the bond between us, I hope he soon will be. 

Blair 

I've just discovered the downside of being a Sentinel. That would be a Sentinel in rut. I wanted to be as understanding of Jim in his fugue state as he had been when I was working through my guilt and pain from the Maya debacle, but I...I just couldn't do it. I saw him and this redheaded interloper rubbing up against each other in the cloakroom, trying to inhale each other, and something awakened inside of me. Jim came home the following morning in a fantastic, and dare I say it, well-fucked mood, and he was asking for breakfast. I don't think so, man. I burst that bubble pretty fast. Furthermore, I will never admit that the lack of food was in any way payback. However, there was a smile on my face because I'd solved the mystery. I had spent the night researching and discovered pheromones as well as a clawing need deep inside of me. The solution was either to smack that fatuous smile off Jim's face, and all thoughts of pheromone-woman into the realm of a bad drug trip, or have him start devouring me with the same intensity he'd displayed last evening. 

Jim 

Staying at St. Sebastian's was eye-opening. I know I groused about the spartan accommodations, and I think Jeremy depriving me of my cell phone and my music was a bit overboard. And it'll be a long time before I share with Blair that many were the times in the Army while I was eating dirt in the middle of some black Ops mission when a stint at the monastery would have been considered five-star lodgings. But, there we were in the thick of it, with monks keeping their vows of silence and hiding their shady pasts, and Blair and I were finally working in sync. The bond between us was humming. We were communicating through glances, finding clues effortlessly, delving into murder and solving crime. This...this was what made it worth it. My Guide and I were moving to a whole new level. 

* * *

9\. Flight 

It would be easy to blame the loss of my senses on that wicked blow that young botanist from UCLA gave me. But, waiting near the bank of a jungle stream for Blair to come looking for me, I am forced to admit the truth. 

"My Sentinel abilities are gone. It's as if someone's just turned off the switch." 

"Well, maybe it's just temporary," Blair stammered out an explanation as soon I finished speaking. 

"I never wanted this damn thing," I find myself admitting to Blair. I think back to that nightmarish time in Peru, almost seven years ago, when my senses came on line. At that time, I felt as if I were travelling through a fevered dream - sound, light, touch, and taste all working together to create a cacophony of input that was driving me crazy. Incacha had brought order to madness but I didn't understand what was going on now. 

But Blair wasn't having any of my evasions. He came right back at me questioning, just like a Guide should. 

"Dammit, Jim, tell me what's going on. I'm your partner." 

Hoping to throw him and see just what Blair would say, I told him about the black panther. I told him I had seen it when we first landed. How it seems to be watching us from just of out of sight. I also told him about the dream I'd had last night. The dream that had been more real than anything I'd experienced, and hearkened back to those fevered passages I had suffered through when my senses first awakened. And not to callous but all of this was happening while Simon and Daryl needed our help. 

Did I even think my panther would create a problem for Blair? He immediately gave me a Western explanation about my dreams speaking to me in symbols, and the Chopec interpretation about the panther being my animal spirit, and having a message for me. Bottom line, I was supposed to quit fighting it and see where it led me. Hah! Save me from know-it-all Guides. 

At the crack of dawn, I will be going up against the people holding Simon and the natives of this area. However, tonight my Guide and I will stand guard some distance away while the children and their temporary caretaker retreat to the safety of the jungle. Hopefully, I'll get to the bottom of my panther dream. 

I never seemed to slip into sleep before I found myself looking at the panther in a blue-tinted dream. I looked around and Blair was at my side looking as surprised as I was. The panther turned and loped into the jungle. The two of us gave chase. Countless minutes or hours later - time had no meaning here - the panther stopped running when he arrived at a small temple. 

"The Temple of Sentinels," Blair breathed softly at my side. For all our running, neither of us was winded. 

The panther roared and then morphed into a Chopec shaman. I didn't need Blair's whisper of confirmation. His face was at once ancient and ageless. 

"Who are you?" I shouted. 

"The question is who are YOU?" was the cryptic answer. 

Yeah, he was a shaman all right. They're annoying cusses. "I don't understand." 

"Your return to the jungle was no accident. This is the place you were reborn as a Sentinel. You have been brought back with your Guide to complete the circle." 

"Why have my abilities been taken away?" I was almost sure of the answer but I had to ask. 

"To remind you of who you were. What you experienced so far was just an initiation. Now, you and your Guide will have to make a choice. You can go back the way you came and be ordinary men or you can go forward. But to do so will require your lives and your souls. Are you BOTH prepared to make such a journey?" 

Before I could answer, and from one blink to the next, Blair and I found ourselves standing at the edge of a cliff. I automatically hugged my Guide close to me. I didn't understand this. "We're standing at the edge of a cliff. If we go forward, we'll die." 

The shaman's shout was resounding and implacable. "Yes." 

I turned to face my Guide and gripped his hands in my own. He was looking straight at me, his face stripped of artifice, every emotion laid bare and it occurred to me that I was looking at him the same way. Suddenly, a tiny smile curved those lush lips. With every atom of my being, I knew I'd taste those lips before too long. The trappings didn't matter. We might be Sentinel and Guide, but we were also two men who loved and cared for each other. There was an unbreakable bond connecting us. 

Still holding each other, as one, we turned to face the shaman and we both affirmed, "We're ready." 

The rest as they say is history. My senses were back, and the next morning with Blair's help, I made quick work of trashing the outpost where Simon and the villagers were being held. It was followed by an annoyingly quick rescue by Simon's friend, Sandoval, who was only to happy to help mop up the pieces while ignoring several Peruvian legal rules, which we had smashed. 

Shortly thereafter, Blair and I were in Lima, rolling around on clean sheets and making good on promises we had made in the jungle. 

Epilogue 

The two men in the loft bed ignored the strident ringing of the phone. The answering machine would get it. 

" - This is Janet from Dr. Stoddard's office. Dr. Stoddard really needs to know - " 

Distracted by the caller, Jim said, "I guess you should call him back." 

From his perch atop his Sentinel's magnificent chest, Blair eyed one nipple considering his next course of action before answering Jim. "Actually, I'd already decided not to go." Leaning forward, Blair laved Jim's nipple, drawing a strangled groan from the supine man. Smiling, he drew back and pronounced, "You know you're more than a research subject. It's about friendship." 

Fisting his hand through the riot of curls, he prodded Blair's attention back to more pleasurable pursuits. "Nah, it's about Sentinel and Guide." 

The End. 

* * *

End 

The Compleat Guide by Maigret: mlogick@hicom.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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